


Cologne - The free one

by Snowingiron



Series: German Cities [5]
Category: Paris Burning (thecitysmith)
Genre: F/M, Paris Burning, Period-Typical Racism, split personality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowingiron/pseuds/Snowingiron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m free," he said when they glowered at him. "I’m free," he said when they locked him away. "I’m free," he whispered to himself when they shaved his hair(it would never grow back).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cologne - The free one

 

 

When they started to call him Cologne, he was torn. Romans lived next to Franks and he talked to himself all day, cursed in latin and comforted in frankish. He laughed at himself and himself again because it was so ridiculous.

 

"I am good, I'll be so good, I swear, just stop tearing me apart."

 

A woman, whose face he had seen before, he was sure of that, stroked his curly hair and tried to soothe him.

 

"Who are you talking to?"

 

"Him, always him, he's so cold."

 

"There's no one else here."

 

"Humani nil a me alienum puto... Liar!“

 

*

 

He was a good City, a happy one, almost. Until the colour of his skin became an issue and his people started to whisper behind his back.

 

"Can he even be a City?"

 

"Why does he look so different from us?"

 

He didn't know, he didn't know anything his people ever asked him. He wondered if the answer to all those questions were somehow waiting in the future. Maybe one day this would all make sense.

 

*

 

He was a rich City. The thirty years' war didn't affect him because he saved himself and his people by paying enemy troops or selling weapons and goods.

 

But no matter how hard he tried, his people still didn't love him, not really. Only then in 1794 when the French invaded him and he was kneeling next to the cathedral, bruised and hurt, a man touched his shoulder.

 

"You're free now," he said with a french accent.

 

Jean-Étienne Championnet took care of Cologne and calmed his people. He showed him how things could be and told him not to be afraid. But Cologne never had been afraid. Never.

 

"You've had your revolution. Are you now trying to revolutionise me?"

 

"No, not you. Your people."

 

And he could feel their grattitude like it was his own. Well, maybe it was.

 

*

 

(Napoleon visited Cologne once and gave him a new title: "bonne ville de l'Empire français".

Sometimes he still makes people call him that)

 

He will always miss the french and he will never not be grateful for what they did. The german campaign, Prussia, sense of nationality, it was all coming for him and he failed to fight it.

 

"I'm free," he said when they glowered at him.

 

"I'm free," he said when they locked him away.

 

"I'm free," he whispered to himself when they shaved his hair(it would never grow back).

 

He remembered Duisburg squeezing his shoulder and telling him that it could be worse.

 

*

 

"Köln, come on!"

 

Bielefeld helped him off the ground, a grenade had just exploded right next to them.

 

"I can't move anymore," Cologne said and looked at his red soaked uniform. He was destroyed, so utterly destroyed and had felt so many people dying (bombs, bombs, always bombs, the british, the americans, where did they get all these bombs?), how in the name of everything should he be able to go on?

 

"You have to. They want us to suffer here, they want us to die."

 

He didn't even get a chance to tell his siblings where he was going. They just took him and brought him to the front. He had killed people here because he didn't know what else to do.

 

"I'm not free," he whispered and clutched Biefeld's hand. "but I will be. I swear, this will be over soon.“

 

Bielefeld smiled, with mud and blood on his face. They hid in one of the trenches, holding their rifles and waiting for the silence to pass. Suddenly Bielefeld stood up, his eyes wide.

 

"No... no, stay here." a german soldier was sneaking off to collect munition from the dead. "No, don't."

 

"What is it?,“ Cologne asked.

 

"He's mine. He's one of mine. No!"

 

Bielefeld left his rifle and jumped out of the trench. Cologne was too tired to reach out for him and he would never see Bielefeld again, at least not like this.

 

*

 

Later he got a tattoo because he was angry. ( 800.000 people had lived with him. Now only 100.000 were left.)

 

*

 

He watched people(not just from Cologne) walking through the streets on Christopher Street Day. He liked their flags and their carefree smiles. He was colourful, in every possible way.

 

These days, it was easier to think about the past (Historia est vitae magistra). It wasn't hard to move on anymore. He celebrated with his people that he loved (and they loved him), even his siblings joined him sometimes. This day was one of his favourites because no one hid from anything and even though they made him wear a red lace thong, no one cared.

 

Even Berlin was here, smiling and shaking his hand. He had red lipstick on his cheek, probably from an overexcited drag queen.

  
"Congratulations, Köln."

 

"On what?", he asked.

 

Berlin shrugged. "Just being you. They also say you host the greatest parties and it is true."

 

Cologne paused for a moment, then his smile grew wider. "It is! Let's have a drink before Leipzig and Duisburg find us."

 

Sometimes he thought about challenging Berlin. He _was_ the greatest of them all, wasn't he? People came to him when they wanted to be free. He had worked hard to be... _this_.

 

But he could be more than that... couldn't he?


End file.
